The News-Herald. [volume] (Hillsboro, Highland Co., Ohio) 1886-1973, 1887-04-14

"You have mot forgotten how to row,
have you" he asked, - We rushed
through the country.
"No, fancy not; but I'm not in the
condition was when we rowed In our
first boat during the May races. What
time do you dine, BY :he ways"
I'VE never dine"
mo. We breakfast and lunch, and go
on the water when the latter meal has
been digested, and come back to q cold
spread when we have had enough mist
assure you"
mo doubt" said I, thinking that I
would have q pressing engagement to
tear me back to town very soon. do
you know what nightmare is ?"
mot very well; saw picture OF one
once, in an old almanac, I think"
The clutch of the metropolis is never
shaken of while you remain in the rail-
way carriage which started from 1t; nay,
the turmoil of the streets still sings in
your ears for several minutes after you
have left the station.
We had almost reached Sinclair's villa
before the sweet odors of grass and flow
ers got fair hold of my senses, or the
strange stiffness of everything ceased to
confuse me.
1t was delicious place; the house was
white, and wide, and low, and covered
with jessamine and honeysuckle, and
shaded on three sides by a broad veranda,
upon which the French windows of
the sitting-room opened. The stables and
kitchen were out Of sight and smell some
where; the lawn was cool with trees |;
and the bright, swiftly-fowing river
shone at the bottom of it.
A lady sat in cane camp-chair in the
veranda, reading the paper; she heard
our voices, and rose, and was introduced
to Mrs, Sinclair. My friend had made Q
good selection; she was handsome, we'll
dressed, courteous, hospitable, without
knowing it. By which, as cannot read
peoples hearts, /, of course, meant that
she gave one the impression of not know
ing 1t. She rather patronized me as being
benighted bachelor, after the manner of
matrons of twenty.
1t was about five o'clock in the after
noon, and she wanted to have dinner for
me in couple of hours, but, of course, l
would not let them alter their domestic
arrangements, so I had light snack then
and there, after which I declared my
readiness to take to the water.
Passing out on to the lawn, accordingly,
l found another lady with Mrs. Sinclair,
and was made acquainted with Miss Fill
mer, a quiet, retiring little girl, rather
nice looking when you came to notice
her particularly, which one might very
well neglect doing when there were sew
eral other girls present. Mrs. Sinclair
called her Daisy, and most appropriate
name 1t was for her. The oat-house,
which was also arranged as q convenient
bath-house, giving promise of an early
plunge next morning, contained an out
rigger, canoe, and skiff. The latter,
which was afloat, and only fastened by a
paddock, was loosened; the ladies seated
themselves In the stern, Mrs. Sinclair
taking the tiller, and as her husband re-
membered that had rowed on the stroke
side at college, I was placed on the after
thwart, In easy conversational contact
with them. When Sinclair wanted to
join in the talk he had to raise his voice,
and to demand repetition of any laugh.
ter-causing observation with whats
that?"
had not rowed for some time, and my
hands were rather tender, but took It
easy and saved them.
It was calm and glowing evening,
the scenery was that which I like best !;
the conversation of the ladies' was by no
means of furbelows, as Sinclair had put
1t, but clever, natural, and interesting; /;
80 that was enjoying myself thoroughly,
and no longer calculated on an early de-
parture.
"Are you talking about books ?" cried
Sinclair from the bows mind whist you
say, Kate; Jones there is an authority"
mo, no." said / II am only hanger
on to journalism"
"Oh, am 90 glad that you are a literary
mani I do 30 want really good opinion
about certain book. Miss Filmer, you
must know, is an authoress."
"Oh, no, Kate"
"You are, Daisy, and you are great
deal too diffident. Difidence is a great
bar to success, is it not, Mr.. Joness"
I'm my proper profession, the law, It
certainly would be fatal" I replied laugh
ing. "And think that in authorship q
little confidence is just as well. But
what Il Is your work, Miss Filmer-a
mo; though I am accused Of diff.
dence, was SO ambitious as to write
verses. But was rightly punishe for
my temerity, and their worthlessnesu As
fully exposed"
"The most disgraceful, the most un.
manly, cowardly attack that was ever
pennedr cried Mrs. Sinclair Indignantly.
"Some Of the poems are beautiful; all
show originality and talent; you shall
see them for yourself, Mr.. Jones, and
judge"
"Oh, no, pleaser' said Miss Filmer, who
looked really distressed.
II hope you will not refuse me the
pleasure Of reading them" said I.
'She cannot; you shall have my copyw
cried Sinclair from behind me. II am
no Judge of poetry myself, but thought
them capital, and SO did the publisher
really, you know, because he printed
them without making any charge"
~ am afraid he has lost money, poor
msnr' sighed the poetess.
"Oh, Miss Filmeri What was the
name of the review that attacked you ?"
1.-THE Blank Review," replied Mrs. Sin.
clair for her friend. did you ever hear
of itP"
EYES," said I, as carelessly as I could,
but bit of lump began to rise in my
throat; II have seen the periodical. Did
Miss Filmer publish under her own
namef"
mo; she took the nom de plume OF
Dora fortunately. I think she would
hardly ever have got over the attack If It
had not been for the shelter of q pseu-
donym."